The Colour Red
by AnimeLover137
Summary: He loves the color red. It serves as a reminder. (Dark-themed, a few curse words there and here, rated-M for a reason)


He loves the color red. He always thinks that it is exotic.

Not the kind of red Asuka often wears or adorn, bright red and a hint of orange. But the kind of red that is dark and somber, always creating a dazzling contrast against brighter colors.

He adores the color red, so unique to his eyes, so intriguing to his brain. He loves red.

It is calming.

And so here he is, in a dimly lit room, curtains drawn close and barely any light in the darkness. He draws his arm with red.

It is rough against his skin, leaving a red mark behind, a beautiful contrast with his pale tone of his skin.

All the while, his mind drifts, allowing himself to wander as he continues to draw absently on his arm.

He remembers the training he has today in NERV, the synchronization test where he sat in the cockpit waiting for countless hours. It is a pity his SDAT isn't waterproof, or else he would've brought it in with him in the cockpit.

Damn, those hours in the Eva, it gives him a lot of time to reflect.

The fight with Angels, where carnage is left in their wake.

His hand-to-hand combat sparring with his NERV instructor, and Asuka on occasions, getting his ass handed and his nonexistent pride and self-esteem shattered to tiny pieces.

Talks about the mechanics of Evangelion, though most of the times Dr. Akagi would leave him in the dust and catch up himself.

Then he remembered the more suppressed memories.

Sitting in Misako's apartment, the pilots and his guardian chatting and laughing, all the while he sits in the corner, listening but never speaking, as though waiting for someone to notice his pathetic existence. But his wishes are never answered, he is always ignored.

He recalls, the sneer on Asuka's normally pretty face and the indifferent look on Rei's emotionless appearance. They point out his faults and mistakes, and the red-headed often hits him on the head whenever he does something wrong.

He touches the fading bruise on his stomach, where Asuka had elbowed him just this morning, slightly with more force than usual.

Then he remembered the face of his father, Gendo Ikari.

Disappointment.

Expectations.

Disapproval.

Unconsciously, he draws harder, leaving a larger red mark.

Then he sighs, putting a finishing touch on his drawing on his arm with a flick.

Shinji stares as his arm apathetically, carelessly tossing the smeared cutter aside on his bed.

His arm is painted a dull red, bordering on black as ichor dripped on the bucket under his suspended arm.

And he waited, silently counting the number of droplets made in the pocket until no more comes out. He also takes note of the level of black liquid in the bucket, which is half-filled right now. He saves up the liquid to see how far he has come to every time he carves his skin, sort of a mark of his progress.

And when the blood run dry, leaving only dry red traces on his skin, he wipes the crusts and remaining blood away from his arm, and stares at what he has engraved on his arm.

 **FAILURE**

Yes, he is a failure, a disappointment to his mother's memories, a coward that runs from his troubles.

His eyes stray towards the abandon cutter, nothing less than bloody as it lies on the red-tinted sheet.

He entertains the thought, and with a wry smile he doesn't know he has on his face, he reaches over and grabs the tool.

 _Pathetic, you are unworthy to pilot an Evangelion!_

He extends the blade from its sheath.

 _You are not protecting anyone! In fact, you're the one that causes all the damages! You kill them all!_

He fingers the edge of the sharp steel, a thin paper-cut appears on his thumb.

 _Your wellbeing is none of my or our concern, all we need is a pilot that can activate Unit-01._

Slowly, with surprisingly calm fingers, he raises the cutter to his neck.

 _The survival of humanity is upon your shoulders now, you cannot fail nor escape from your destiny._

Cool steel presses against the thin skin, his vein pulses against the blade. Blood is drawn with ease, dripping down his neck.

He… truly is pathetic, isn't he? Even now, he chooses to escape by the means of death, someone who flees from his duty.

But, who can blame him?

He is, by all means, a ordinary boy.

And doesn't he regrets it, the day he steps into NERV, the moment he chooses to enter the Evangelion, to answer his father's call and come to Tokyo-3.

He regrets everything, for not living his life to the fullest. Now his path is one that leads to nowhere but hell. His life is ruined, full of pain and despair.

All the things he suffers, both physical and psychological, he has saved humanity as much as he has destroyed it.

He saves people, yes.

But he can never forget the ones that he fails to save.

The faces of anger, twisted in madness as their love ones are crushed under falling debris, in sorrow as they realize that they are left alone without their family.

And the hatred in their eyes, pure venomous as they glare reproachfully at him: the pilot who controls the giant machine that is supposed to save them, only failing to do so.

The blade just digs deeper, and a numbing sensation welcomes him.

He is tired, and god he just wants to die now.

Is it too much to ask? Happiness? Is it hard to grant him a moment of happiness?

He is a human, not a robot nor a clone. He is not a man, he is a boy barely halfway into puberty, his voice is still changing and he is still growing taller every day.

He is still a child, is it too much to ask for being loved? Being sheltered?

Is he not allowed to be given the chance to choose? The right to end his life?

He has struggled, he has crawled like a worm, he tries his best.

But it is never enough.

"…"

Jesus, he's fucking tired, can't he catch a break?

Like, can there be a moment of silence without Asuka demanding dinner and shut the fuck up? He can hear her voice all the way from the living room now.

And can Misato cut that out, knocking on his door asking him to clean up the laundry? Can't a grown adult do it herself?

He's not answering, can they take a _fucking_ hint?

But she's still knocking on his door and he can still hear Asuka's demanding voice.

At least they are persistent, he'll give them that.

But he still is not answering, staying silent on his bed with the cutter still against his neck.

Let them assume that he is asleep for all he cares, he's done being obedient.

He's no one's slave.

He is not a puppet.

He is not a dork.

He is no doll.

He is a human being.

He is a boy.

He never asks to be a savior.

He just wants to live his life as a normal teenage boy.

Can't they just leave him in peace? His life is much a mess already. NERV has caused more damage than the Angels combined could.

The knocking on his door stops, and the person knocking leaves. Asuka has long given up on calling him awake.

Good, he is not in the mood to deal with this shit.

He raises his arms, left and right, and stares at the words he wrote with his own blood.

Is he a failure, for not living up to his dad's and everyone's expectations?

Probably.

With that happy thought, he sighs, setting the SDAT aside so that it won't be sprayed in blood when he slits his throat.

Is this finally ending? Is this nightmare coming to an end?

NERV can always find a replacement for Unit-01, he's replaceable, he's sure his father can find another pilot more in sync with the purple robot. After all, he's just a weakling.

Even then, they still have Asuka and Rei, the better pilots that have the actual skill and the right mindset.

The world will be a better place if they are the ones protecting them. No Angels will be able to beat them.

He's just a nuisance that will just hinder them, they are better off without him.

His blade twitch, and he feels the cool touch of the blade against his flesh. One quick slash will do the job…

 _Shinji, I want you to promise me. I want you to promise me to protect the people around you._

The blade stops short.

 _I love you, Shinji._

The cutter falls from his limp fingers.

 _I am proud of you._

The memories of his _mother_ hit him, and the thoughts of forgoing his life are forgotten.

Recollections of his mother.

His mother, even when she's dead, still remains as his pillar of support for more than a decade.

His mother, even when she's dead, still cares about him.

Her mother, even when they are separated in different realms of death and living, she continues to protect him.

He wiped the back of his hand across the shallow wound across the side of his neck, where a small amount of blood is still leaking.

He watches the red turn black in his blood-smeared palm, the slight pain on his arm and neck serves as a reminder.

A reminder to stay strong even as the world is against him, to silently endure even when odds are against your favor with no hope of turning the tides.

To live is to endure. He must endure as a human being and as a pilot who saves the world on a daily basis.

But most importantly, red, it also serves as a reminder of his mother, whose dark red eyes gaze lovingly at him in his memories.

Red, it reminds him that even when she is dead, she still loves him.

He is wrong, his life is not meaningless, because he lives in the memory of his mother, she believes that he is the one that will save humanity, and she places his trust in him.

She loves him.

She trusts him.

She adores him.

She treasures him.

She didn't want to leave him.

She wants to take care of him until she grows old and dies peacefully, knowing that her beloved son has a family of his own and working his way to happiness.

Is it wrong, to live for the sake of a mother? To fulfill the dreams and desires of his loved ones?

 _Shinji, maybe you are too young to understand, but your path in the future will be one full of thorns, with countless twists and turns. But stay strong, remember that your mama will always love you._

Bear with it.

The wounds have long since stopped bleeding, he reapplied the bandages on his arms. The words **PATHETIC** and **FAILURE** on both arms respectively covered by the white cotton strips and leaves no skin exposed.

He slips on his shirt and pushed the bucket down his bed, deep in the corner and covered by a lid so that even PenPen can never smell it.

He opens the door of his room and is blind-sighted by the sudden shine of lights.

He enters the kitchen and faintly notes that Misato is inhaling beer like oxygen with Asuka and Rei on the sofa watching television.

No one seems to notice his sudden presence except for Rei, but she quickly returns her attention back to the television and ignores him.

Like all people do.

He washes his hand in the sink, the dry blood cleansed from his skin as he prepares to cook dinner.

That is fine, people can kick, ignore, insult him all they want.

He will not fall.

He can endure, since it is the only thing he is good at, both physically and psychologically.

He mustn't break down.

He is strong in his own limited ways, he is his mother's son.

Blinking, he absently gazed at the sink at the lingering traces of dark red.

A bittersweet smile comes to his face.

He loves red, it is exotic and heartwarming.

It reminds him of his mother and the purpose of his life.


End file.
